Watcher vs Friend
by BookAddiction1
Summary: Oh, not again! This was getting repetitive! He really didn't want to have to kill Joe Dawson, but come on!


**Watcher vs Friend or How Joe Dawson kept his life**

Methos didn't want to kill him.

The immortal genuinely liked Joe Dawson and the thought of killing his Watcher friend didn't make him especially happy. He was a well-connected but safe friend (considering he wasn't in the Game). But he was making it really difficult for Methos to convince himself to keep him alive!

The immortal had suspected this for a while and held off from acting as he'd had no real evidence of the fact, but just a few days ago after Methos had finished relating a little story about some town he'd spent a few years in shortly after having left his three brothers, he'd seen the Watcher writing down all he'd learned into a relatively big leather-bound book that had at least a quarter of the pages already filled. It didn't take a genius to understand that the mortal had been gathering all the little and not so little facts Methos let slip.

And therein laid the problem. After finding out that Adam Pierson was in fact the five-thousand-year-old Methos the man had promised to keep it to himself and not write it down in a chronicle. Plus, to add insult to an already bleeding injury that innocent looking book was sure to include bits of his time as one of the Four Horsemen! Absolutely unacceptable.

But how to solve the problem without having to kill his friend AND preventing the Highlander from going headhunting?

Oh…

Right! He could always use _that_!

.oOo

The bar had been busy that night but now in the late hours of the night only a few strugglers remained. As Joe finished with one of his last costumers he finally got the chance to breathe easier even as he turned his attention to Methos, who was sitting in his usual chair in the corner, with a view of the whole bar and the door, nursing his sixth beer of the night.

He had a melancholic look on his face as he stared at the far-wall lost in thought. There was some hidden, barely-there tension in his usual sprawled position on the chair and the fingers of his left hand clenched and unclenched periodically. Six beers a night was unusual even for Methos, who drank the thing like water on a good day.

"Wanna tell me about it?" he asked, settling opposite his friend and polishing a wine glass with smooth, practiced movements.

Methos turned his gaze and hummed considering.

"Today is the death anniversary of an old friend of mine," he said after a few seconds of thought.

"Sorry," Joe grimaced.

"It's alright. Happened a few hundred years ago. Recent events just brought it back again."

"How so?" wondered the man after seeing no signs of distress on the others face.

"Yes, you see, he was a Watcher and he had found out about my identity as Methos. As he was my friend he promised not to report it," the immortal said.

"He couldn't have told," Joe inserted, guessing at where this was heading. "We have no records of you from that period."

"He didn't report it but three years into our friendship I found out that he had been keeping a chronicle in secret," here he looked the mortal straight in the eye "He had been writing down all the things I told him in confidence as a friend and though he was a good friend, for him his oath to the Watchers was more important than his promise to me."

Methos didn't fail to notice the small tremble that showed in Joe Dawson's eyes nor that the hand motions slowed for a few seconds before resuming their previous pace and he took a long gulp of the drink before continuing seemingly absent-mindedly.

"I confronted him of course. Said I knew. Told him to destroy or give up all that he had written and swear to never do so again…"

Joe gulped almost unnoticeably. "Did he?" he asked lightly.

"No."

There were a few seconds of silence before the immortal continued.

"He was a man of his oath. At the time a man's word was his honour and the world was big on honour during those centuries. He refused to stop. Refused to destroy the records he had already gathered."

Methos' eyes hardened a bit as he looked the other straight in the eye and said in a light tone that was a great contrast to his eyes

"A few days later he was in an accident." Joe had to keep his eyes from widening at the implications even as a bit of colour drained from his face.

"He died at the scene. He didn't suffer a whole lot, but it was still a loss. He was my friend after all," he sent a small closed mouthed smile at Joe before a slightly dreamy sigh left him and his shoulders sagged in a vailed-sarcastic movement as he added "Nobody ever did find his will." A pause. "Or the chronicle, now that I think about it. Oh, well." That was followed by a 'what can you do?' shrug.

Joe hummed as if in agreement and returned to his cleaning in silence.

.oOo

The next day, just as Methos had finished his first beer, Joe set before him a familiar looking leather-bound book. The immortal nodded in silence and stashed it in his bag, brought with him for this occasion.

And that was that.


End file.
